


Simple Gifts

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [16]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Holiday, M/M, minor reference to BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Northern festival of <i>jól</i>, and Athelstan is about to get a very nice holiday gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly before 2x02. Follows [Freyja's Gift](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1781329)

One of the things Athelstan had come to love about his new home was how heartily these Northmen celebrated special occasions. Everything from healthy births to marriages to harvests and hunts were welcomed with feasting, drinking, and merrymaking of many different sorts. There were sacrifices, too, which still disturbed him to some degree, but even those he had come to accept as part of the culture into which he had been involuntarily adopted. It helped that he now understood how these people honored and revered the creatures whose lives they offered to their gods. This was no wanton slaughter as he once had believed, but as important a part of the cycles of their years and lives as any other rite.

By far, however, his favorite of the Northern celebrations was the midwinter festival of _jól,_ the celebration of which he was currently enjoying in Kattegat's great hall. It reminded him in great measure of his homeland's celebrations of Jesus' birth around the same time of year—an element he often kept in mind even as he was raising a goblet of mead in honor of the Allfather. It had not escaped him in his years of monastic study that there were pagan aspects to how the English and Frankish celebrated the Christchild, and seeing the winter fest in this land had only confirmed his suspicions of old. It was, therefore, a time when he felt as if the two halves of himself might someday be whole: that just as his people had melded traditions of the old Celts with the religion of the Romans, his love of God might one day merge with his growing respect for Odin.

Of course, part of himself had already been wholly subsumed by the Northmen—or at least one of them.

Ragnar sidled up to him, a horn of ale in hand. "Do you have enough to drink?"

Athelstan lifted the goblet he'd been nursing. "I am well supplied, thank you."

"And your belly. Is it full enough?" He slyly patted the slightly rounded space above Athelstan's belt.

"It is indeed. Perhaps a little too much." He grinned. Despite the physical nature of many of his household duties, nearly four years of staying more or less close to Kattegat had put a bit more flesh on his bones than there had been when he was living an ascetic's life in the monastery. The food and drink here were not always in plenty, but when they were, they were enjoyed with as much abandon as these people enjoyed other carnal pleasures. Just as he had been gleefully indulging in the latter, the former had been part of his joy of life as well, and the evidence had begun to show on his body. Not that Ragnar seemed to mind; he always made sure that Athelstan's hungers of all sorts were well satisfied.

Of course, the feeling of the man's strong fingers stroking his abdomen was now making him peckish for at least one of those indulgences. Dropping his chin, he looked up through his lashes in a way he knew Ragnar usually found irresistible, and licked his lips in an entirely unsubtle fashion.

Ragnar got the hint. He looked around the hall to note that his family and guests were well occupied with their various pursuits of holiday consumption and amusement. This late in the evening, the chances of them being missed were next to nothing. After locking eyes with Aslaug and getting a smile and nod in return, he nudged Athelstan's shoulder with his own. "Come with me." He set aside the horns and goblet. "I have something you'll want to see."

Athelstan turned and flashed a rakish smile as Ragnar steered him out the door and toward the earl's quarters. "Well, I'm sure I've already seen it all by now."

"Impertinent!" Ragnar chided him. "I have half a mind not to show you now."

Athelstan pouted, though the effect was sort of ruined by the thick snow now falling on his face.

"Get inside, you naughty child." Ragnar directed him with a slap to the arse, giggling when he was rewarded with a sharp yelp.

"I'm going! I'm going!"

Once they were inside, and the fire had started warming his cheeks again, Ragnar stopped him. "All right. Close your eyes first."

Athelstan did so. "Closed. Now what?"

"Hold out your arms."

Athelstan couldn't help grinning—and also couldn't help a quick flutter through his belly. Though he had a hard time admitting it to himself in so many words, some of the games he and Ragnar had begun to play now and again really lit him on fire. It seemed odd given how Ragnar had once bound and leashed him as a matter of unwanted control that he now welcomed—even longed for—the similar acts they did these days. Perhaps it was knowing that Ragnar meant him no real harm whatsoever, and would instantly stop if Athelstan wished him to that made the difference. In any case, when Ragnar wanted him to close his eyes and hold out his arms in ways like this, things he very much enjoyed often followed.

Thus, he was surprised that the sudden weight that lit upon his left arm felt nothing like the bonds Ragnar usually used. Likewise, the leather-wrapped wood pushed into his right hand was unfamiliar.

"Open," Ragnar commanded.

To Athelstan's complete astonishment, he found himself standing in the middle of Ragnar's bedroom holding a solid wooden shield and a gleaming, well-honed battle axe. He stared in confusion.

"Do you like them?" Ragnar beamed proudly at him. "They suit you. I knew they would. I had them made for your size and stance."

Athelstan tilted his arm, looking down at the face of the shield. Its edge was wrapped in well-forged iron, and it was painted half green, half cream, with a decorative band across the middle. The axe likewise was well-crafted and sturdy. Both did, as Ragnar had noted, fit him very well—inasmuch as such things could. "Ragnar. I don't know what to say. Thank you, but I . . . I never expected something like this."

Ragnar looked concerned, and perhaps a little hurt. "Are you not pleased by them? Do you not like the colors on the shield? I could have it repainted."

"No! I love the colors. This shade of green has always been one of my favorites, in fact. It's just . . . I'm not a warrior. I'm not sure what I would do with them."

"It is true you are not a warrior like me or the rest of my war band. Or indeed like any other Northman would be to at least some degree. But I don't think that needs to remain the case forever. If you're interested, that is."

Six years ago, he could never have imagined wielding such things in battle, or even knowing how they were wielded. But then again, six years ago he also would never have imagined many of the other things he now did with gusto as a matter of course in his new life. He hefted the weight of the shield, and made a few experimental cuts in the air with the axe. A slow smile spread across his face. "I think I might be interested, yes. This is wholly foreign to me, but I admit I kind of like it."

Ragnar's giddy expression returned. "Good! I'm very happy that you do." He strolled around behind Athelstan, slipping his arms around the shorter man's shoulders, and gently guiding the motion of his arms. "I admit that I've always been concerned that you didn't have any battle skills. There's always the chance that we could be attacked, or that someone who mislikes you might want to do you harm, and I won't be around to protect you. The idea that you might learn to protect yourself gives me great comfort."

Athelstan nodded. "I understand. You're right. I would like to know better how to defend myself if I need to." He tried to move the way Ragnar guided him. "And I suppose there is one other advantage."

"Oh?" Ragnar encircled his right wrist, helping him trace a series of standard figures with the axe.

"Well, about people misliking me . . . perhaps if I was stronger—more of a warrior—people might not look down on me as _ergi_.  Of course I would still be who I am on the inside—and I would still be your lover—so that wouldn't change entirely. Yet, perhaps I could at least put on a stronger countenance, and thus deflect some of the scorn, if it's clear I can use these things as well as any other Northman."

"That's an excellent point, and one I had not even considered myself. You know you don't have to prove yourself to me in any way, but I admit I do like the idea that you might someday prove yourself to the people who don't see you as I do." Slipping the shield and axe from Athlestan's hands, he set them aside and came around to face him again. He reached up to trace the line of the young man's thickening beard. "You are so very different now from the frightened priest I once thought I might kill. I love you the same in any case, but that you are truly becoming one of my people does please me."

Athelstan's eyes fluttered closed as he enjoyed the caress. "It pleases me, too."

Tilting Athelstan's chin up, Ragnar pressed a solid, wet kiss upon him. He tasted like ale and roast boar and rosemary. " _You_ please me," he said, pulling back.

Athelstan smiled warmly, and slipped his arms around Ragnar's waist. "I hope I always do."

"Of that, I have no doubt."  Ragnar settled his hands on slender hips, pulling him closer. "I have asked Torstein to begin your training as soon as you'd like. I'll train you myself when I can, too."

"I look forward to it." Athelstan reached between them, brushing his fingers across the telltale swelling at the front of Ragnar's breeches. "For now, however, how about we do something I already do well?"

Ragnar sucked in a breath, and pushed himself into the touch. "No argument from me," he purred, his voice low and teasing. "You may be new with the axe, but your skills with the staff are second to none. "  



End file.
